


Taking Initiative

by TheShitCook



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Maybe Spoilers, Porn With Plot, Season 8 Spoilers, Sort of plot, Spoilers, after all out war ark, boys falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShitCook/pseuds/TheShitCook
Summary: Daryl and Jesus start up a relationship when things start to calm down, but it turns into something neither of them thought they would be ready for.





	Taking Initiative

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up very suddenly at 5am after a very vivid Desus dream, feeling the desperate need to write this all down. So please enjoy.

     It had started out as just sex. Both of them being consenting adults, both of them being gay (whether openly or closeted), and both of them needing an outlet after the war. It had made sense.

     Daryl doesn’t really remember how the topic of his sexuality got brought up. Paul couldn’t tell you how he managed to breach the idea of “friends with benefits”. But both of them can tell you, in intimate detail, exactly what their first time together was like.

     Hot, rough, and over all too quickly. Daryl, being as repressed and inexperienced as he was, came like a freight train when they’d finally slid together and Paul had wrapped his hands around the both of them. Paul, though he’d been quite the sexual deviant in his prime, followed soon after. It had been too long since the end of the world and he’d needed it. He’d barely even gotten the chance to run his hands over the sweat-slick skin of Daryl’s biceps, and the opportunity for a kiss hadn’t come up before it was over. They broke away quickly after that. Scrubbing at the stains on their clothes as they hurried off to their respective homes to change, shower, and think.

     It didn’t happen again for a while after that. One week passed, and then two. Neither of them making the first move and risking making the other uncomfortable with their agreement. Daryl got distracted with hunts, knowing that they could do with the extra food. Paul got distracted by keeping relations between the communities from falling apart. There just wasn’t time for a while. Then suddenly, after one too many drinks on both ends and a litany of exchanged, heated looks across the bonfire, Daryl was pressing Paul against the hard, plastic siding at the back of Paul’s trailer and sinking to his knees. His thick fingers had pulled dumbly at Paul’s belt and the scout couldn’t remember a messier blowjob in his life, but it had been the perfect catalyst.

     They became more regular after that. Not routine, but regular. The quick, dirty, don’t-ask-don’t-tell romps turned into something of an escape from their busy lives. Pulling them away from needy residents and tedious work. If Paul was initiating the idea, it was with a quick quirk of his brow and a, possibly involuntary, twitch of his ears. Daryl would either agree by adjusting his jaw and clearing his throat, or stalk off and find a quiet place to smoke. If it were the latter, Paul would leave him to his devices for the reminder of the day. If it were the former, he would pin Daryl to whatever surface was nearest the second they were alone together.

     Daryl wasn’t often one to initiate. When he did, Paul was usually very much up for it, being young and full of hunger like he was. Daryl was a little more… direct. Finding a way to _accidentally_ bump shoulders with the smaller man and then force their eyes to meet. He would gesture his head in some random direction and Paul would smirk at him, dirty and inviting, then follow, or give him a sad smile that signalled he was not in the right mood. And no matter what answer they gave each other, it was fine. There was no resentment at a no, and there was no grand display of affection for a yes. It was an agreement, to be acted upon when both of them were willing and able. And they were fine with that.

     Daryl can tell you the exact day that that changed for him, the exact moment. He can tell you that it had been a sunny day in Spring, that baby Herschel had been especially fussy as he’d been babysitting, and that it had been a seemingly meaningless gesture that had started the avalanche of emotion. He can tell you he had expired cereal for breakfast, nothing for lunch, and, his favourite, leftover spaghetti for dinner. More specifically, spaghetti that Paul had cooked and offered to him as they used his trailer to house Herschel while Maggie got some much-needed rest in Barrington house.

     He’d taken the position of bottom that night, his strong arms clinging to the bedposts as his body was repeatedly pressed into the mattress. Paul’s hands were on his thighs, his chest, his hips, his ass… they’d been everywhere, until they were, quite suddenly, at his head. Paul, almost unintentionally, pushed Daryl’s bangs out of his face. He tucked them behind his ears and then smirked down at his now unobstructed eyes. Warmth spread from Daryl’s chest all the way out to the tips of his curling toes and he came so hard, and so suddenly, that his surprised moan woke baby Herschel in the other room. They pulled away from each other as the toddler screamed and Daryl gave a slightly apologetic look at not being able to reciprocate. Paul shrugged, fully understanding, cleaning himself up and heading for the shower. Daryl had yanked on his pyjama pants and hurried to Herschel’s side, cooing at him comfortingly as his mind raced and he used his toddler-free hand to chew at the skin around his thumbnail. _Shit…_

     It was less black-and-white for Paul, which was unusual for him considering he tended to be in touch with his feelings. He recalls that, at some point, missionary became their favoured position as opposed to doggy style. They took their time more often. Enjoyed the foreplay and each others company for a short while afterwards. He stopped asking Daryl what he liked or if it felt good. Not because he didn`t care, but because he didn’t need to. He _knew_ what made Daryl feel good, he _knew_ what he liked. He _knew_ just the right way to crook his fingers inside of his secret lover to make him scream and buck on command. Their _adventures_ together became less frequent, as their desires seem to ebb, and it became less urgent. They, however, did not become less intimate. Very much the opposite.

     Neither of them really had anybody to talk to about it, making the inevitable realization even more drawn out and, looking back on it, somewhat painful. Daryl would have chosen Rick, but never felt that any time was good considering… and Paul would have chosen Maggie, but he wanted an unbiased opinion. He knew that if he’d brought it up with her, and even if he’d left Daryl’s name out of it, she would devote her life to figuring out the mystery man and sitting him down for a nice, long, talk. So, the scout had chosen his favourite saviour from the pen, the one he’d dubbed _least-likely-to-be-an-asshole-or-homophobic_ , and used him as a wall for bouncing ideas off of. He’d been right in his judgment, as the young man had had a gay sister, who’s wedding he’d even attended _before_. He’d been best man AND maid of honour to her and recalls wearing the most gorgeous flower crown and skirt-tuxedo top combo to grace the green earth. He’d never pushed Paul to start a proper relationship with his “fuck-buddy”, not knowing much of their background save for what Paul was willing to share. “Should I give him space?”, “Should I be more direct?”, “Should I end it?” These were the questions, and Cooper seemed to have at least some of the answers. Especially to the last question.

     “No. You have to hold on to this. Whatever it is now, and whatever it turns into, it’s hard to find these days. If you’re going to end it, don’t let it be for some petty, self-doubt reason.” And that had been the last time Paul had doubted whatever was between him and Daryl.

     Daryl, on the other hand, was trapped inside his own head over the whole thing. Going back and forth, yes and no, tell him or don’t. In the end, he decided he needed more time.

     The day that things REALLY started changing had been the day of their first kiss. And, as they look back on it now, the first time they’d really made love rather than just fucked. The first push towards something better.

     Paul had come back from a run. Dirty, exhausted, emotionally raw. It had been a team mission, and he’d lost somebody. The recruit had been newer, and Paul wasn’t close to the young man at all, but the loss had stung nonetheless. Why did he, a 35-year-old nobody that couldn’t even hold down a _real_ relationship, survive, when this 20-something that could actually grow up to be somebody bit the dust right in front of him. At the dying boy’s request, Paul had been the one to end it after he’d been bit. Taken his young life with a silenced bullet and brought his body back to his friends to be properly buried.

     Daryl had heard through the grape vine before he’d even caught a glimpse of Paul and settled himself into one of the seats in Paul’s trailer. When the young man came lumbering in, shoulders hunched and eyes far away, Daryl had taken the initiative. Not looking to Paul for consent and not feeling a moment of hesitation as he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and held him tightly to his chest. He held onto the top of his head protectively and Paul had sobbed, almost violently. His hands had clung to Daryl’s shirt tight enough that he stretched the fabric in some places, and his eyes were red and raw with tears by the end of his fit.

     And then, Daryl leaned down, and he kissed him. It was soft, and drawn out. It made Paul’s mind go blissfully blank for a few moments as Daryl led him to his bedroom and pushed him to lie down. When Daryl finally pulled away from the kiss, and the moment that seemed to suspend the both of them in time ended, Daryl had been the first to speak.

     “Don’t hafta do anythin’ tonight. Jus’ wanted ta make sure ya was okay.” He whispered, hand pressed against Paul’s chest in a firm, grounding gesture. He’d barely started pulling away before Paul had grabbed onto his wrist, looking up at him with glistening eyes and parted lips, a silent plea. Daryl had been the one to undress them both. Slowly, delicately. Between soft, reassuring kisses that never turned into anything more than just that.

     Daryl had topped that night, putting Paul’s mind back together even as he took his body apart. He vividly remembers the soft feel of Paul’s cheeks against the palms of his calloused hands as he kissed him. The trembling of his lithe body as Daryl slid inside of him. He especially remembers the rough, vulnerable edge to Paul’s voice as he groaned Daryl’s name and scraped his nails down Daryl’s scarred back. That sound would be forever etched into his memory. The desperation and sorrow mixed with pleasure making his heart ache and his grip on the sheets tighten exponentially.

     Paul had given him no instruction that night, which was a bit odd for them. He was always talkative, always had something to add. “Harder”, “Faster”, “You don’t have to try so much”, “Try it like this, it feels really good” Anything! But this time, he had been quiet. Quiet save for his muffled moans and sobs. Quiet save for “please” and “Daryl” tumbling unbiddenly from his lips. Daryl recalls the words being on the tip of his tongue. _I need you. I care about you. I love you_. But they didn’t make it past his lips, which he pressed against Paul’s in order to keep just that from happening. And Daryl had accepted that that night would change their relationship. If not for Paul, very much for Daryl.

     The next day had been one filled with sorrow and mourning. Though nobody had known the young man very well up until his death, save for his four friends that he’d survived the end of the world with, the communities had agreed that death needed to be treated like the tragedy that it truly was. Though it was an inevitability, it did not need to become expected and accepted. Hilltop held a proper service at his grave. His friends brought flowers that had been picked just outside of the newly expanded walls of Hilltop, and Paul had told them their meanings, adding his own bouquet. Any resentment that the four had held for the scout dissipated when they saw the defeat and regret etched in his features. And if they had any fight left in them, Daryl was more than prepared to knock them the hell out.

     The two of them weren’t together sexually for a while after that, but they did start a new tradition.

     Sleeping together. Literally, just that. After they’d fallen asleep tangled up with each other the night of the young man’s death, they hadn’t spent another night alone. Daryl wasn’t sure if that was his idea or Paul’s, but it stuck. He would wrap his arms protectively around the smaller man and kiss his forehead gently, running his fingertips down Paul’s back until they both fell asleep.

     When things finally got back to normal and Paul fell back into his cheery persona (though it seemed a little forced in Daryl’s opinion), they started having sex again. But it had felt different. More intense, even less rushed than it had already become.

     And then, the kissing became a regular thing. Paul was the initiator of that, for sure. It started with heated make out sessions before they became intimate. Then it turned to wet, opened-mouthed kisses that didn’t need to turn into anything more. Then quick pecks. And then just on the cheek. Stolen during quiet moments when they didn’t feel the pull of arousal, but still felt the need to do something. _I’m still here, we’re still doing this…_

     Paul had realized his feelings very, very slowly. And then, all at once. It was a morning, similar to any other, where he woke up after a night of passion with Daryl. The hunter had obviously woken before him, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing the bedroom door as Paul scrubbed at his sleepy eyes and admired his bare back. He realized this was the first time he’d seen it fully. Covered in _old_ ropey scars and new ones, some still healing. A large, demon tattoo covered the right side. Daryl turned around when he felt the shift and Paul noticed the homemade granola bar in his hand, which Daryl had already worked his way through half of. Daryl broke it in half and held it to Paul’s lips. The younger man took it gratefully and, once he was finished, Daryl fed him the last quarter. Paul gave him a dopey smile and, rather unexpectedly, Daryl smiled back. It was open, vulnerable, and full of so much emotion that it made Paul’s heart stop in his chest. His mouth fell open slightly, but he shut it quickly, not wanting to alert the older.

     “Mornin’ sunshine.” Daryl had joked, and got up to prepare for his hunt.

     “Mornin…” Paul responded weakly as he watched Daryl lumber off. He had realized, in that moment, that he was going to have to do something about it.

     He went straight to Cooper that day. Confused and, for once, not the well put together Jesus persona that he’d created for everybody else’s benefit. He knew he shouldn’t be showing this sort of weakness to a saviour, but he felt a connection, a friendship, that he hadn’t felt in a long time. And if not friendship, it was an olive branch. One that’s he not sure whether he or Cooper was extending. Either way, it worked for them.

     “Why do you even need to ask?” Cooper had asked incredulously. “Go for it already.”

     “You don’t understand though!” Paul groaned. “He’s so emotionally unstable sometimes, I have no clue how he’ll react! He never opens up to anybody except his family, so why would he open up like _that_ to _me_ , I’m just-”

     “Look, look, look,” Cooper interrupted. “I’m confused now. He never opens up to anybody, but the two of you have been having sex, and kissing, and sleeping together, and he _fed you breakfast_ … it can’t be both man.” The look on the saviour’s face had Paul tempted to kick him. “And the way you described how he looked at you this morning… I think you need to try. And I’m not just saying that because I would like to be one of the guys that makes it out of this pen alive… and away from Gregory’s constant bitching…” Cooper added that last part almost like an afterthought and Paul chuckled. He glanced over at the pitiful man mentioned and thought to himself how much he would hate to end up old and alone like him.

     So, he gave it a shot. That very damn night, he gave it a damn shot.

     He had made Daryl’s favourite dinner, pasta, and dug some candles out from the back of his closet to set around the bedroom. He placed the tallest candle in the center of the dining table. He trimmed his beard, put his hair up in a neat bun, and fingered his eyebrows into a more acceptable shape. He put on his cleanest t-shirt and a pair of dark, stone-washed jeans. When he looked himself over in his full-length mirror, he found himself rather good looking considering they were living in the apocalypse. Then, he waited. Sitting at the dining room with two tinfoil covered plates.

     When Daryl walked through the front door, not even bothering to knock as he toed off his shoes, he seemed taken aback. This didn’t come as a shock to Paul as the display he’d set out was obviously meant to be a romantic gesture. He pursed his lips and looked down at his socked feet. He squeezed his eyes shut as he prayed to whatever God was still watching over them that his actions weren’t misguided, that Daryl wouldn’t bolt like a spooked deer. _Is this too strong?_

     Daryl had been so silent, and so quick, that Paul only noticed that the hunter was within his personal space when the older man had dropped to his knees and dragged Paul into a kiss. He’d dropped his crossbow with a resounding thud and used his now free hands to cup Paul’s face. All tension in the scout’s body dissipated as he wrapped his arms around Daryl’s neck and smiled from ear to ear, disturbing the kiss slightly.

     “Finally…” Daryl had muttered. “finally, finally, finally…” he groaned through deep, desperate kisses.

     Jesus had made love to Daryl that night. Filling him so slowly and fully that tears formed in the corners of the hunter’s eyes. He thrust into him with a gentle rhythm, hips moving like rolling waves and sea-green eyes glued to Daryl’s expression as he took him. Paul pressed himself as snuggly as physically possible to Daryl, their torsos creating a wet, hot friction that made his bones ache.

     “I love you…” Paul had murmured, perhaps a bit early, but it was true. Daryl snivelled and nodded, wrapping his arms snuggly around his lover and repeating the words back like a mantra.

     It had just been sex, and they’d both been fine with that. Meaningless and purely for release. But now, as they laid tangled together under the covers of Paul’s bed, and Daryl smiled shyly against Paul’s chest, Paul couldn’t have imagined their relationship turning out any other way.

-FIN-


End file.
